Oh, and it turns out that the entire planet is not just listening to this Cruzuetta music, but also now making it.

[Video][Website]
[4.86]

Katherine St Asaph: Found at the scene of the crime: the gutted remains of three separate Britney songs, a flash drive with the codec of the Jaysean Derulaz voice, and the souls of everyone who misheard that lyric as “she workin’ like mother on the dance floor.”
[3]

Jonathan Bogart: The song is stunningly average trance-R&B of the kind Usher would make in his sleep if for some reason he was trying to compete with Taio Cruz. The video, though, is a giddy introduction to Tim Omaji’s supreme talent for entertainment: a dancer at least on Chris Brown’s level, an appealingly winsome singer who doesn’t let himself get drowned out by the heat-blast synths, and a clotheshorse I frankly envy.
[7]

Iain Mew: This actually doesn’t remind me of David Guetta so much as the British boy band approximations of same – it’s that bit further away from the actual club and that bit more hung up on its silly lyrical concept (which is a doozy). In those stakes it’s better than “She Makes Me Wanna” but not quite up there with “Glad You Came”.
[5]

Anthony Easton: Nothing new here, and, weirdly, it doesn’t work as a shiny and sweet McDonald’s either.
[3]

Brad Shoup: Written from the titular conceit outward, with absolutely no ironic or subtextual treatment of this death’s implication. Stick it in the roller rink.
[5]

Edward Okulicz: Okay song, good personality, the singing… well, it’s not bad in any sense, but it doesn’t have any zest or vitality to it. Tim’s dancing is great, and you can tell he loves performing from the video, but you can’t hear it in the song itself. Being a good dancer actually has informed more than a few decent pop stars over the years, because if you can’t dance to it, you should think twice about it as a single. In any case, I’m blaming the producers — DNA Songs are Australia’s version of a hit factory and that they’ve never had a hit outside their own borders tells you something about their quality — their music is as bland as Jessie J writing a song for David Guetta to do with Taio Cruz.
[5]

Alfred Soto: A song whose ruthless efficiency deserves further study: no wasted moments, just verse chorus verse. Study its dinkiness too – a sonic update of Haddaway.
[6]